


Heard it All Before

by MatildaSwan



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, sex on a snooker table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a build up to every train wreck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heard it All Before

**Author's Note:**

> Nicola Murray has taken over my life. This is getting ridiculous. 
> 
>  
> 
> a_writing_muse: disclosure. ttoi kinkmeme: Three times he/she propositioned the other in jest and/or without meaning to. One time he/she did so and meant it.

Nicola plodded down the stairs as best she could, wobbling extensively and cursing her decision to wear new shoes to work. She had enough trouble with heels on a good day, let alone a pair just out of the box. Holding onto the railing as she navigated, she managed to get to the landing without falling and breaking her neck. Feet firmly on the ground, she headed towards the door out of chambers; thankful no one was around to laugh at her failure at walking.

She had fallen asleep during an excessively boring cabinet; given nobody actually sat near enough to her to pay attention, no one had bothered to wake her up. Presumably no one had noticed, or at least she hoped: she hadn’t napped for that long anyway. And she was almost certain she hadn’t drooled on herself. Not a bad start to a day, when she thought about it.

She stopped at the door, normally held open for her by some nameless minsters, and fumbled with the bundles of papers she was carrying. She tossed them from one arm to the other, trying to get a hand free. Finally she managed to balance them on one elbow and tugged the door open. She took a step found and herself face to chest with Malcolm Tucker; his figure looming over hers as he checked his phone.

"Oh, Jesus!” Nicola squawked, folders spilling all over the floor. “Fuck me!” clutching at her heart. “ _Malcolm_ ,” breathless and perturbed.

Malcolm looked up from his blackberry, noticed the panicked look on Nicola’s face and grinned. “No thanks love, not today. I’ve already got plans, but the offer was very flattering,” smirk oozing with contempt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go mop up this cluster fuck of shit the treasury managed to fling at me. Mind you don’t trip on those,” pointing to the floor before turning tail.

Nicola watched him as he sauntered down the hallway; hand still clasping at her chest.

*

Every minister at Number 10 was giving Malcolm’s office a wide breath. Even Sam had gotten tired of hearing snippets of the shit storm raging in there, and given herself an early lunch break. She could still hear their shouts she walked down the corridor; how they managed to screech at one another for half an hour she had no idea.

“Jesus Christ woman, where’s your brain? Do you even have one; hidden in there under all that fucking frizz you call hair!? What did that posh school of your even teach you, aside from how to correct people on their grammar?” Malcolm bellowed, arms flailing wildly. “Here’s an idea, why don’t I take you to school, sweetheart. Take you out the back and give you a fucking good seeing to!”

“Bet you’d like that, watching,” Nicola snapped, barbed and irritated. Her throat hurt, she was hungry, and she just wanted to sit in the silence of her office. “Sounds just like your type of thing, standing in the corner, leering at everyone to get your kicks. Why don’t we give that a go then, shall we? Get your pet pit-bull in here, you can watch while he gives me a through going over!” Nicola glared at him, expecting Malcolm to start shouting his usual rebuttal of vulgar imagery and graphic language.

He didn’t say a word, just stared at her, eyes wide. The silence wore on and Nicola realised the imagery embedded within her tirade. She blushed; a delightful shade of crimson, and waited for the ground to swallow her whole.

“Yes, well,” she stammered, after she realised that the floor beneath her was solid and staying that way, and that she’d managed to find a way of shutting Malcolm up long enough to for her get away without him chasing her. “Goodbye.”

Malcolm just gaped at her as she ran from his office, desperately ignoring how uncomfortable his trousers had become.

*

Nicola swore under her breath as she stomped up the stairs, anxiety levels off the chart. What should have been a relaxing fifteen minute break from the office had ended up a complete fiasco. This one wasn’t even her fault; it was just shaped like her.

"What the fuck is this?” Nicola shouted as she marched into her office, flapping that afternoon’s paper in Malcolm’s face before slapping it down on the desk.                                               

“It appears to be a paper,” Ollie piped up, leaning out of his chair to grab it.

“Yes, thank you!” irritation and anger flaring all over the place. She honed in on Malcolm again. “I mean the fucking article. It’s in almost every tabloid. By tomorrow it _will_ be in every fucking paper. Why wasn’t I told? I just got swarmed by a hack pack asking my opinion on the policy on my way to get a bloody _coffee!_ ”

“Proper disclosure,” Malcolm supplied, seemingly unruffled by Nicola’s anger. “Protocol had to be followed.”

“Disclosure! Proper protocol my arse! You’re the one always going on about how out of the loop I am. It’s hardly my fault I don’t know anything if _they_ decide not to tell me,” arm swinging in the direction of Helen and Ollie sitting around the table; Helen on her phone and Ollie reading the article. The two of them were so used to Mummy and Daddy fighting they barely even noticed anymore. “But there’s no way they’d decide to undermine me like that without your go ahead. You just wanted to be a wanker so you decided to fuck me!”

“I think you’ll find those two idea are mutually exclusive,” Malcolm quipped, straight faced. “Though not totally fucking repellent, all in all.”

“I don’t give a…what?” Nicola stopped mid rant, confused and slightly disturbed. Helen looked up from her phone, brow creased; Ollie buried himself further into the paper, shuffling in his seat slightly.

“My having a tug off, and me fucking you: they’d be two complexly different operations.” Malcolm explained with all the interest a four year old has in vegetables. “Not much point getting yourself off if there’s someone in the room. Though it’s safe to say I’ve only got one of those things on the list at the moment.”

Nicola did an extremely good impression of a goldfish.

“Now quit your whining and get some fucking work done, would you? You two, get her an opinion on the bloody policy, for a start.” He jutted his chin towards the two still sitting behind Nicola before exiting the room, coat flapping behind him.

*

Nicola had hidden herself as far away and several corridors from her colleagues as she possible could. She’d been looking forward to the Christmas bash, thinking it would be a soothing change of pace from the usual machinations of Shadow Cabinet; a chance for everyone to relax in a social setting after the reshuffle. She’d conveniently forgotten that politics never rests.

After an hour of shoulder rubbing, she’d grown tired of Dan Miller sending her death glares over his scotch and Ben Swain smarming the place up, not to mention all the gossip swirling around the room about fuck-knows-what and she-sure-as-shit-didn’t-care, and decided she’d had enough. So she had nicked a bottle of Bacardi and some lime juice from behind the bar, shoved a handful of mint into her bag and made for the exit, grabbing a jug of tonic water on her way out. She’d wandered through the halls of whichever old boys club they’d decided on this year, until she couldn’t hear the chatter or terrible music, and walked through the first unlocked door.

Already ecstatic at the blissfully emptiness of the room, Nicola smiled and silently thanked the kind soul who’d left the snooker table set up: a bit of ball thwacking was just what she needed. Dumping her things in of the empty chairs and filling up her glass with what could loosely be described as a mojito; Nicola kicked off her shoes and set about some stress relief.

Three refills and two potted balls later, Nicola was thoroughly enjoying herself, though failing to actually pull off any of her shots. She was plotting, at eye level, the best angle to attack her next attempt from when the door behind her creaked open.

“Nice view,” Scottish vowels disrupting the room. “Might want to put a sign on the door, ‘Leader of the Opposition’s arse up on display; come one, come all’.” Nicola could practically see Malcolm’s hand gestures through the back of her head, and smashed the cue with a satisfying crack. She watched as the balls bounced around the table, one just missing the far corner pocket before coming to a stop in the middle of the table.

“Fuck off Malcolm, I’m tired of your voice,” resting the stick against the wall and downing the rest of her drink; refilling immediately. “I want some quiet before I have to go back into the pool of fucking piranhas and plaster on a smile, so could you leave me alone?”

“You overcompensate too much when you angle,” he explained, sizing up the table. “I know you’re a lefty, but you don’t need to lean so far to one side. You have to be more centred.” He picked up the cue, lining up a shot as Nicola stared at him. She wasn’t sure she remembered a time he’s gone that many sentences without swearing.

Malcolm shot, knock the cue balldown the table and stood back as the balls ricocheted off the padding and each other, smirking as two fell into the centre pocket. Despite herself Nicola smiled, a touch envious of Malcolm’s skill. “Well done, and you didn’t even need to shout at them.”

“Yeah, well that’s me, fucking jack of all trades. Bet I could even teach you,” looking at Nicola for the first time since he’d entered the room. He smiled; a proper, non threatening smile he usually reserved for his niece or Sam. “What’s that you’ve nicked?” nodding to the bottle sitting by the chair. “Actually, I don’t care, make us one too?”

“Afraid I’ve only got the one glass,” Nicola apologised, adding another finger of rum. She took a few steps towards and handed the tumbler over. Malcolm dipped his head in thanks before sculling the contents in one.

“Don’t ask,” shooting Nicola a glare when he noticed the angle her of her eyebrows. “Give us another, and I’ll help you scrub up your pool skill.”

She smiled, poured herself a generous portion of spirits, necking it before munching on a mint leaf as she refilled the glass. She swapped the glass for the cue and walked around the table, lining up a shot. Malcolm followed, resting the glass on the sideboard before standing behind Nicola.

“No, your posture’s all wrong,” his hands shifting her hips slightly. “Straighten your back. Yes, that’s a bit fucking better, but you’re still over compensating.” He lent forward; one arm reaching round to move the wrist on the table, the other altering the angle of her elbow. “There, now gently does it,” hand now covering hers, guiding the movement of the stick. The cue tapped the ball, rolling it towards the red resting by the side of the corner pocket and nudging it in.

Nicola giggled; gleeful pride lighting up her face. She turned to Malcolm, only to find their faces mere inches apart.

She was suddenly acutely aware how tightly pressed together they were; his arms still either side of her. She could feel his body heat on her back, and one of his legs was brushing against her thigh. She blinked, holding her breath; unsure what to do and if Malcolm had even noticed.

Moments passed, tension thickened the room; dozens of reasons she shouldn’t lean forward whirling through her mind, along with the absolute certainty that she didn’t care.

Malcolm finally caught up, eyes boring into hers until she exhaled; jaggered breath through parted lips. His sight flicked down to her mouth for a second and linger. He glanced back up, eyes dark and wide, and slammed his lips against hers.

Nicola dropped the cue, wood bouncing on carpet as she rolled underneath him, pushing her body against his as he wove a fist through her hair. Malcolm moaned as her tongue slid over his teeth; mint-light and sweet. Her hands ran over his chest, nimble fingers working on buttons and buckles; his grip on her hair tightened.

She groaned, nibbling on his bottom lip as she pulled back, panting slightly. She grabbed his tie, guiding his mouth down; his tongue trailing down her neck, teeth worrying the skin as his hands found her breasts. She bucked against him as he brushed a nipple; she wrenched his mouth back to hers, his hands trailing down to her hips.

He pushed up the hem of her dress; fingers dancing along tops of her stockings, grazing her clit through the soaking material. She broke away with a gasp, rolling her hips against his hand as best she could. He chuckled into her ear, feeling her lipstick smear over his cheek.

“You’re an eager girl, aren’t you?” a touch smug. “Already so fucking wet for me, and I’ve barely even touched you.” Malcolm nibbled at the base of her ear, feeling her blood pulse under his tongue.

“Then get a fucking move on,” throaty and harsh; so close to desperate. He smirked against her jugular and pushed her knickers to the side; fingers sliding over her clit and curling into her core.

She panted in his ear as he worked his hand inside her; barely registering the filth falling from her mouth. He’d never have picked her for a talker. She trembled against him, swallowing her moans as best she could. He could feel her shaking, leg kinked over his waist; white-knuckle grip on the edge of the table. She ground down in his hand; so _close_ , and almost sobbed when his hand retreated. Her eyes flew open, but before she had a chance to yell at him, she felt his cock press against her thigh and his voice in her ear.

“I need to be inside you, Nic’la,” she felt him shiver, delving a hand between them. “You’re so fucking wet and warm,” sliding inside her heat with a groan.

Then he was thrusting, frenzied and frantic, and his hands were all over her body. She bit down on his shoulder, trying not to scream. His fingers knotted themselves in her hair again, pulled her head back: she arched, pushing her cleavage into his face, feeling the brush of felt above her stockings. He was hard and hot and _marvellous_ : bruising grip so fucking delicious as his slammed into her.

Her body was on fire and she was so fucking _close_. His hand reached between them; his thumb brushed her clit and she was coming, barely contained moaned filling the room as she clenched around him. She whimpered as his fingers kept moving, milking her orgasm until he lost his rhythm, hips juttering as he swore into her neck.

They collapsed against one another, panting and breathless as the sweat dried on the skin. Malcolm shifted first, moving away from the table. Nicola barely held herself up with limp arms, staring at the man in front of her: brain finally starting to working again as he did up his button and tucked in his shirt. Noticing the panic rising in the room, Malcolm stopped and stepped forwards.

“Stop thinking, you daft woman.”  His hand caressed her cheek, before pressing his lips against hers; tender and sweet. Nicola melted in his arms. “Stop fucking panicking.” 


End file.
